


Connected

by PitsOfDisclaire



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Crushes, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Kevin's POV, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post canon, Secret Crush, at the moment this will be fairly general, but possibly subject to change, but what's new in my fics?, connor is also depressed and lonely, kevin is depressed and lonely, like 4-6 years later, maybe an autumn fic who knows, r-r-road trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 07:57:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16058849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitsOfDisclaire/pseuds/PitsOfDisclaire
Summary: Kevin Price is not a sentimental man.But no one knows better than him that people are subject to change. One night, one box, one slip of paper and a million stories. When Kevin decides to take a long-awaited trip down memory lane, his life is filled with purpose once again. With the chance of reconnecting with an old flame, Kevin has two things driving him forward; love and of course, determination.





	Connected

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. So just to clarify, this is only the first chapter, it is also all I have written at the moment. Further updates will have a schedule, this is more just a dip tipping my toe in the water. It's been a while since I wrote, and for some reason it's taken me a while to write this BUT HERE WE GO

Kevin Price is not a sentimental man.

No photos ward his bare walls. Neither diaries nor journals have ever graced his home. He doesn't keep a stack of home videos, he’s never made a scrapbook and he doesn't even post on social media. The very thought of ever looking back into his past makes his flesh taut. 

Of course, that was until it showed up and the temptation was staring right into his eyes. 

Eight hours ago Kevin was innocently cleaning out his small apartment. It wasn’t anything major, just throwing out things that had lost their use. Arnold was the hoarder out of the two of them but he moved out to be with Naba a couple of weeks ago. Now that it was Kevin, the place was a lot more empty. Still, somehow, things had a way of hiding. At the back of his wardrobe, it resided, accompanied by a uniform, a name tag, and a yellow and black tie. Never before had he been so compelled to burn down the entire city and flee the country. Hell, the thought of leaving the planet had sprung into his mind. The surge of adrenaline he got from the mere sight of it was unbelievable. It was enough to send him flying on to his backside, scampering away as if he were its prey. 

It took him the rest of the day to compose himself, to pull his scattered mind back together. He was a mess and for the first time in a while, he was thankful that Arnold wasn’t there to catch him. Like a parasite, the thought of its existence was controlling his every move. Every time he was in that room his eyes would be drawn towards it. Even if he wasn’t in the room it would be on the forward edge of his brain, dangling just before his mind’s eye. At midnight when he was trying to sleep he snapped. It was a shell that needed to be cracked open and he needed reinforcements. 

2 am. A melting tub of ice cream on his left, a cooling cup of coffee on his right. With his lion king blanket wrapped around him, he sat in the middle of his bedroom floor. Besides the narrow strands of light peeking through his blinds, Kevin sat in darkness, peering into the face of evil. 

Or rather, one of the faces of evil.

Evil comes in the shape of a cube. Frail walls made of the devil's parchment guard its wicked interiors. There's no telling what kind of horrors are hidden inside. There could be ferocious beasts, waiting to attack. Or demons, waiting to be released into the world. Even in this world, hell could be sitting before him, disguised and laughing to itself. Kevin knows that it knows it’s driving him insane. If it could smile, there would be a sneer spread across its many faces. 

On the surface, a cardboard box doesn't seem like much. But that's beside the point.

The point is, that it doesn't matter what it is. What matters is what lies inside the box. 

On its front is an inscription in rushed handwriting and smudged marker. ‘Uganda,’ it reads in what is clearly Arnold’s writing. But below it, in much smaller writing are the names ‘Arnold and Kevin.’ 

He can still remember the day the atrocity came to be. It was the two of them, spread across Arnold’s bedroom floor along with photographs and mementos. Over hot chocolate and cookies, they laughed to each other as they relit the flame of their old adventures. Though out of their minds, their quests had never been forgotten. To a small few, they were legends. Arnold and Kevin, Kevin and Arnold. They were heroes once. It wasn’t long before their hot chocolate washed down their smiles and their laughs had melted into sobs. They held each other as they cried, wishing they could adventure once more.

Silence fell across his bedroom as Kevin looked around. He was alone. His best friend was gone. His friends were gone. His life was gone.

Licking his lips, he gazed hungrily at the box. The pain of nothing was the most sinking feeling he had ever endured. It was as if a knife had been pulled through his stomach, twisting as he was pulled into the air. All at once he felt hot and cold, numb and sensitive, dead and alive. It was a pain he couldn’t place, pain he couldn’t fix. 

Now, a possible remedy sat before him, waiting for him to make the next move.

With a lunge and a tug, the box was in his lap in seconds. He kneeled forward, pulling with all his might as his knuckles turned white. With a sudden push, his sharp nails had sliced through the sealed surface. They tore through the sellotape as he yanked even harder than ever before. He had to do this, he needed to do this. All it took were a few more seconds of tearing before the box fell open. Its contents spilled out across the floor and he sat back, tuckered and breathless.

Kevin let out a gasp at the sight. A wave of nostalgia rushed through him as he met eyes with his past. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because it felt like every emotion was dancing inside of him. Alive. That’s how he felt. He felt alive.

He picked up the first thing his eyes could focus on; a book of Arnold. He didn’t realise how much one heap of paper could make him feel. As he softly smiled, a tear ran down his cheek. It was strange. What was in his hands was a makeshift book. Random pages of made up stories were sandwiched together between two red pieces of cardboard, held loosely together by a piece of yarn. It was the first copy Arnold had ever made. On the cover is its title, painted in yellow. Inside are their religious stories, filled with typos and obscure references. As Kevin began to release more sobs into the world, he clutched the book against his chest. This book had quite literally changed his life. For good, too. 

Only God knows how long he stayed like that, crying to himself as he cradled the book. He couldn’t end there, he decided. Through tears, his eyes became fixated on a small bracelet. It was handmade, by a little girl he used to teach. Zawati was her name and he loved her so. Threads of purples, blacks and greys intertwine with each other and on the end is a charm shaped like a heart. He quickly placed the book beside him, only so he could tie the bracelet around his wrist. It was, of course, a perfect fit. He couldn’t even remember why he had taken it off in the first place. He vowed to never do so again.

He carries on like this for a while, spending as long as he can viewing each little piece. He finds photos of him and Sadaka that he forgot existed, photos of Arnold and Naba which he should probably return and photos of everyone and everything that happened on his mission to Uganda.

As Kevin picked another copy of the book of Arnold, a photo fell out of the page. He only needed to see a small corner of it before dread washed through him.

Though Mormons don’t technically celebrate Halloween, it was Connor McKinley’s favorite holiday. He claimed that it was because his mom was Irish, but everyone knew he just loved dressing up and eating candy. The strict District Leader insisted that a party was the best way to celebrate the night. Everyone was told to dress up and have fun and even though alcohol wasn’t exactly permitted, it still made an appearance. Even Connor drank it. 

The photo is of two figures passed out on the couch. One, in an obscure costume, is lying flat on the couch. His brown fringe is a tangled mess across his face as the drool visibly creeps down his cheek. He has his arm around the other, who is sprawled across him, his face buried in the crook of his neck. They’re both fast asleep, unsuspecting and unaware of the camera. 

Kevin and Connor swear they can’t remember a thing. At least, Kevin can’t remember everything. He remembers dancing and dragging Connor inside and that’s it. 

He can remember the aftermath, however. The morning headaches rivaled by laughter and yelps. It was Connor who pulled away first, Kevin remembers that part well. It felt as if warmth and everything light had been ripped from his body. As he nursed an embarrassing hangover, he spent the rest of the day trying to piece everything together. Why had they danced together the night before? Why were they on the couch in each other’s arms? Why did Connor look so hurt? Shortly after pulling away, Connor choked out an excuse about drinking and stormed off. He spent the rest of the day in his office, much to Kevin’s dismay. Even in following days Connor seemed to ignore everyone, especially him. Kevin would never admit how much that hurt, because if he did, he’d have to admit his feelings too.

He put the photo to the side and went back to rummaging, trying not to think too hard about everything. Everything he spotted seemed so alien yet familiar to him, like he had returned home after a long journey. Maybe he had. 

As the time passed and the pile began to clear, he found a crumpled piece of paper at his knees. With delicate hands he uncurled it, his heart thumping with every passing second. If this was what he thought it wa then he'd be sure to scream. If it was, how had he forgotten about it? As he saw a line of pink and glitter ink peek out, his breath caught in his throat.

On the scrap of paper were three lines. The first a phone number, the second an email and lastly, a message.

“Keep in touch xxx - C.M”

It was exactly what he thought it was and with that, Kevin did indeed let out a scream.


End file.
